


More of a personal statement

by Saltylocks



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Anxiety Attacks, Bond is beautiful, Bottom James Bond, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Top Q, Wounds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-09-04
Packaged: 2019-04-16 07:19:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14159649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saltylocks/pseuds/Saltylocks
Summary: Short little glimpses of life between missions for Bond and Q.





	1. 007, when did you first fall in love with Q?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q's home is under attack! He hides out at 007's.

Q looked adorable in James’ too big grey sweater, rolled up sleeves and all, sitting in his burgundy sofa. His legs were crossed under the computer in front of him, a teacup, full of coffee, on the table. The quartermaster barely glance up to greet the agent, as James' sleepy brain allows him to register what, exactly, was unusual about this image.

"Morning, 007." 

Bond relaxed, and Q looked up, unaware that he had startled the agent. 

"Don’t worry, ‘s just me."

James grunted and walked over to the kitchenette. The smell of coffee had woken him up and he precariously poured himself a cup. There was silence between them, but a comfortable one. 

"Is that my laptop?" Bond asked after a while, more amused than incredulous.

"Couldn’t go home, and I needed a computer."

"I see, and why can’t you go home?"

Q gave him a quick glance, his fingers still typing. 

"Well, if you must know, my flat is surrounded by the Yakuza."

Bond had always been excellent at telling whether or not a person was lying. Q had no reason to lie. Bond could feel his heart rate pick up just a tiny bit. Not that he would let the young man know. 

"The Yakuza, huh?" he says instead, trying to sound indifferent. "How did they even find your place? I thought it was as well guarded and secure as MI6."

James walked over to the sofa and slid down next to the quartermaster. Q was focused under the wide rimmed glasses, but Bond couldn’t help but notice the dark circles under the young man's eyes. Seeing what others didn't was what had kept him alive this long, and now he took it all in, in less than a second: Q’s tousled hair, the fact that he had borrowed a sweater and didn’t have a computer. The man never left work, or anywhere, without one. And he was always impeccably dressed. James had never seen him in a sweater, come to think of it. Poor Q, having only his old laptop to work with. Also, poor laptop.

He peered over Q's shoulder at the screen in the young man's lap. There were four black-and-white windows, which he assumed was CCTV that Q had hacked into. Q angled the laptop so Bond could see better. 

"How many?"

"I’ve counted 6. And it is."

"7 with the fellow on the roof. Is what?"

Q hummed under his breath and minimized the camera feed to type some letters into another… block of text, Bond didn’t know. It looked like code.

"Well guarded."

Q pressed enter and the men outside his building fell over haplessly, all at the same time. Bond watched the screen for a full minute, but none of them moved. Q almost sounded smug as he described what had just happened.

"Facial recognition software mixed with disguised, small caliber missile propellants. Still in the experimental stage, of course."

"Of course." 

Bond tried to sound neutral, even though he was not entirely able to hide how impressed he was. 

Q opened a chat and sent a few lines of text and a link. 

"The others can clean up."

Q yawned and reached for his cold cup of coffee. Bond looked at the young man slumping back into his sofa and shook his head, suppressing his own yawn. 

"Why were the Yakuza even after the quartermaster of MI6?"

Q smiled and turned his head to Bond. The dark rings under his eyes were even more visible when he turned his face to the cold morning light.

"I don’t know."

Q took a sip from the mug, made a face and put it back down.

"Government secrets?"

Bond squinted at Q. He was watching Bond now, waiting for a response. Bond stared back, too concerned to get the humor of it. Q shrugged and took another sip. 

Not many people cared enough to joke with him, Bond realized. Far too many people gave him orders or wanted to sleep with him or use him for something else. If Q had been a target, he might have laughed anyway, just to seem normal. But this was his quartermaster, one of the few people he could trust, and also, who he didn’t have to butter up or pretend with. His whole body felt warm when the thought dawned on him. He could be himself for once. It felt good. He let himself simmer in it for a few seconds and then reeled it in. It was dangerous too because he might become too attached. Attachment was never a good thing for a field agent. He stood up.

"Want some breakfast?" he asked, just to take his mind off things. 

Q nodded and stretched out on his sofa, closing his eyes. He had fallen asleep by the time James came back to the living room, fresh coffee in one hand and buttered toast in the other. The agent sighed. He put a soft blanket around the other man and went to get dressed, chewing on his own piece of toast.


	2. Q, when did you first start noticing your feelings for James?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond comes home from a mission and ends up at Q's apartment. 
> 
> (If you don't like reading about someone having anxiety, this might not be your cup of tea. Take care of yourself. It ends happily though)

"Sometimes, I’m not sure you have any feelings at all."

Q said this as he was sewing together a nasty cut on Bonds' shoulder. They were crammed into Q’s minimal bathroom, Bond seated on the toilet seat lid and Q standing bent over him. It had been a long, exhausting mission, one of many in quick succession. Bond looked… not old, exactly, but tired, grey-skinned, dull, under the bright fluorescent lights. Q didn’t know how to help except fix him up. Bond had lost so many during his life, during the missions, all the people he had tried to protect. Even if the bad men had been put away there were still casualties. Which might be why Bond didn’t say anything or even winced when Q pressed the needle through his skin. He just took it, sitting there. The agent was looking almost half asleep, his eyes distant, like it was not a needle Q was pressing into his skin at all, but something insignificant, like a paper cut or a mosquito bite.

Q could have said that he didn’t want him to bear the pain alone. But that’s only half the truth. In reality, he is annoyed with the agent. He had only had a couple of hours of sleep, and it’s not the first time 007 had gone silent, only to show up in his apartment, bleeding and breaking stuff, trying to find needles to patch himself up with. Q was worried, but he couldn't say that, not to a man like James Bond. So, instead of saying “I’m so happy you’re alive!”, he said, “What the bloody hell are you doing in my apartment?!”. Bond had stared at him first, looking abashed, before continuing his search, mumbling, “Go back to bed, Q”. That was when Q noticed how the agent wasn't using his right arm, and how deliberately calm his movements were. All anger drained from him in an instant, replaced by fear and something akin to awe.

Bond had stopped rummaging his cabinets when Q touched him, pressed his body against him, calming him, talking him down, like some wild animal.

"Stop, 007, stop, just…stop."

And the agent had finally done just that. His big frame had slumped against Q’s and stilled for a moment, so long that Q worried he had passed out. Then Bond had taken a long shivering breath, and stood again, but lighter, leaning against Q. Q had slung his arm around his back, careful of the wound, and lead him to his bathroom, where he unceremoniously had undressed him, taking off the blood-soaked windbreaker, black polo sweater, and t-shirt. Black was a good choice for hiding minor cuts and bruises, but the blood had caked into the clothes and made them difficult to remove. Eventually, Q took some scissors and cut the fabric open. Bond had gone silent, not making a sound, as Q carefully removed the wool and cotton layers and cleaned his skin.

The thing is, Q knows that it has been a difficult mission because he was in Bonds' ear the whole time, followed him on camera, told him to jump right before the explosion hit and killed all the others. He felt responsible for 007, and for all the good he’s been doing, the lives he has saved, as well as the lives he’s been taking. Bond has done so much good, even though he can’t see it himself sometimes. And he could continue to do good for a long time yet. Or, at least he could if he weren’t so damn reckless. 

"You need to take better care of yourself." Q tries to keep his tone soft, tries to sound forgiving, even though his annoyance surely must be shining through. Bond shoots him a quick glance and smiles, all suave and fearless, even though the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. 

"Sure, Q."

"There it is," Q thinks, the thing that eventually will get him killed. Something stirs inside him, worry, he realizes, but he can’t show that he’s worried, because that would be stupid. 

Annoyance is much easier.

"Sometimes I wonder how agents can risk their lives like they do."

He focuses on the sewing, from keeping his hands from shaking.

"And then you come here, and you don’t care that it's three in the morning. You bleed all over my kitchen. I watch you on the monitor, guide you, and I give you equipment, that you always break."

He was aware that he has turned to nagging. Aware that he had already said all these things before. Bond usually grinned when he did, saluted him and walked off when he did. Now the agent can’t go anywhere, but his facial expression wasn’t saying "this again" or seemed in any way uncaring. He just kept quiet and watched Q, eyes flickering between his hands and his face. No longer unfeeling, distant, but instead almost too present, making Q aware of how he must sound to a man who’s just survived an explosion, a thousand miles from home. But he couldn’t stop himself.

"Sometimes, I’m not sure you have any feelings at all."

The words hung between them, as Bond just continued to watch Q. If Q didn’t know any better, if this was a normal conversation with anyone else, he would think he had hurt 007. But this was one of the best agents of MI6. He couldn’t flatter himself to know what an agent like Bond was thinking.

Finally, Bond spoke.

"I feel things."

The sound was low in his chest, vibrating, with emphasis on every syllable. Q shivered in the cool air. He had dressed down to the long johns he slept in to avoid blood splatter, but regretted it now. Bond spoke again, his eyes locked on Q's face.

"I feel lots of things."

Q let his hands fall to his sides. The air felt thick. Q swallowed. To have James Bond look at him like that, serious, it was too much. His heart suddenly pounded hard, right out of his chest. Someone else might have interpreted it as fear. He only knows he’s happy his pants are loose enough to not immediately show that hypothetical someone how wrong they would be in their assumption. Not that it matters that much, because Bond was right there, still looking at him, and Bond was trained to notice bloody _everything_. Q could practically feel his pupils dilate. He had to leave, now.

He laid the final touch on his stitching and patted it to signal that he was done, averting his eyes from Bond's as inconspicuously as he can. 

"There, all done," he mumbled and moved away. 

His plan is just to get into the darkened hallway, far away from Bond and all the conflicting emotions he brought. But as he takes a step back, Bond Touches His Wrist.

He looked down at the place where they connected. Then he slowly up into Bond's eyes.

"007..."

The rest of it get stuck in his throat. James looked up at him, tugs at him a little, and Q couldn’t help himself, moving closer. They look at each other, Q watching Bond as Bond's watching Q, in the unforgiving light of his tiny bathroom. Q's skin looked green and see-through in comparison to Bonds solid grey, all slender muscle, like a rock. His eyes told a different story though, so blue in all that grey, like superimposed sapphires. He felt delirious, Q realized. He should blink, and breathe. But he was afraid that Bond would disappear, that his breath would shatter him, like a sand castle or dust. Some of the logic returned and he took a deep breath and Bond smiled and it reached his eyes this time and oh god Q could lose himself in those eyes, oh god. He knows he had been standing there, frozen in Bond’s grip, for far too long, but he didn’t know what to do, what to say, and now he worried for real, and he couldn’t feel his lips anymore, they were numb, oh no not this again...

"I think I’m having a panic attack."

His voice was shaky and thin. Bond’s eyebrows furrowed. 

"Pardon?" he says. 

"Panic... attack."

Q could barely speak. Bond let his wrist go.

"What do you need?" the agent murmured.

Q shook his head, closed his eyes, and sat down on the floor. The tile was cool against his body and he focused on his breathing. In, one two three four five, out, one two three four five. There was a whooshing noise in his ears, but at least wasn't getting louder. "Bond is safe," Q thought and kept breathing. There was a heavy hand on his shoulder. "Bond shouldn’t be comforting me, with a bleeding shoulder in my bathroom at four-thirty in the morning," Q thought, but it was still a reminder that Bond was safe, so he nuzzled an inch closer, just to remember that the agent wasn’t dead. Bond was a warm presence next to him, and when he had slowed his breathing to normal again and started to pay attention to his surroundings again, he saw that Bond was sitting next to him on the floor. Q felt warm and sweaty, but it must be cold for someone not freaking out because their body thinks the world is about to end. Q felt guilty because he usually did when he put someone through one of his panic attacks. He liked feeling in control. He liked it when others believe he was in control. Not being in control was bad. It was what get people killed.

"Q?" Bond asked gently, and god, he had no right, no right at all, to sound like that when Q had just broken down on his own floor because he fucking could’t control his own fucking body.

Q wanted a shower and to sleep. Preferably for a thousand years, if that could be arranged. His whole body ached, hyper-aware of the hard coolness around him, only perforated by Bond's warm hand against his skin. 

He couldn’t look at Bond, marble statue of what a man should be, so in control, when Q was not. He bloody hated having emotions, he wished he could be everything he wasn’t, right now. When his constricted throat finally let him speak, he sounds nothing like himself.

"You can have the sofa."

And then, 

"If you want to stay that is."

And then, 

"You don’t have to, I just thought that if you want, you have my permission, not that you need it, obviously. But you should get some rest, wherever you choose to do so."

Q rubbed his eyes and glanced up at 007, sure the man must be looking at him funny, laughing at his ramblings. But Bond wasn’t. He was smiling, but his eyes looked kind and soft. He had no right to look like that either. It wasn't at all the way an agent should look at his quartermaster. Not that Q minded. Not really. 

Bond stood up and reaches out a hand. He looked... tentative. Questioning. Q stood on shaky, stiff legs, and James lead him back to his bed, and Q let him, his head too hazy to not simply follow. His bed felt amazing and he fell back on it, its softness like balm for his aching muscles. Outside the sun was rising, and Bond went over to the window and drew the curtains shut. Q shivered a bit and Bond come to him again, tucks the thin duvet around him. Q smiled when he felt a hand on his forehead, and then Bond was in his bed, surrounding him, making him feel snug and warm. Q’s so tired, he doesn’t even care.

"I’ll rest here, I think," Bond whispers in his ear. 

"I guess you will," Q breathes, and then he is asleep, his ear pressed against Bonds' chest and calmed by his reassuring heartbeat.


	3. I see. And how did those feelings evolve?

"I can’t stop thinking about you."

Bond stood in front of Q, in his kitchen. Some time, a month, had passed since the “incident”, as Q had come to think of it, as he didn’t, couldn’t, think of what had happened more than that. He had tucked away all notion of it into some darker corners of his mind, but now, staring at Bond, it all came flooding back: the way his arm was slung over Q, the way his skin smelled, and his body felt, pressed up against Q... 

"At least it's daytime," he thought, bitterly.

Bond looked... like Bond. He didn’t glance away awkwardly after practically proclaiming his love for the quartermaster. He didn’t leave, either, not through the window he had climbed into or through the door. He just kept his eyes fixed on Q like he wanted to see exactly how the quartermaster reacted. He was so still, and Q, in his defense, felt like he should be the same.

So they stood there, not speaking, for a long time. Finally, Q knew he had to say something.

"I... didn’t even know that that was a possibility."

Bond looked a little unsure of himself, for once. He leaned back a little against the windowsill, scratching his neck.

"To be honest, me neither."

Q nodded. Bond continued to speak, faster now. 

"I can’t sleep. And I... worry." 

His expression was almost embarrassed. Q smiled, against his will.

"My, how the tables have turned."

He didn't mean for it to sound smug. Bond gave him a look. His next words made Q’s hairs stand on end.

"I’d like to see this through."

The quartermaster felt his heart start to pound.

"Why?"

Bond seemed surprised by his quick answer. Q told himself he didn't care. He needed to shut this down, now. Logic was on his side this time, and he pressed on, furiously.

"You know nothing about me. As it should be, between us, quartermaster and agent. You don’t know where I’m from, or where I’ve been. We share no common interests. Meanwhile, I know almost everything about you. I need to, for the work we do. I’ll admit, I didn’t know about your sexuality, but I know what you usually go for. I know every move, where you are and what you do for most of the time. And what I don’t know, I can dig up or ask around for. So, as much as I wish I could, I will not be another notch on your bedpost, another warm body for you to snuggle up to when you feel lonely."

He snorted.

"You don’t even know my name."

Bond didn’t say a word. Q immediately regretted everything he ever said. Why wasn’t the agent… angrier, or more defensive? Finally, the agent moved, but only to stand closer to Q.

"Q, I was not suggesting some kind of... one-night stand."

"Oh?" Q said, and cursed his voice for sounding so hopeful.

"Not at all."

Bond reached out to touch Q’s arm.

"You know that with the work we do, we can’t choose much. We do what we are told to do, go where we need to, shoot who we need to, fuck those who are in our way…"

Q raised his eyebrows and Bond grinned. He slid his hand down and caught Q’s so he could hold on to his fingers.

"...in more ways than one. You know this, and I know this. So, this would never be a normal relationship, to begin with. And I know I know too little about you, but the thing is, I would like to know more. A lot more." 

He sounded less sure of himself now, unable to look at Q directly, instead gripping Q’s hand and looking down on it. 

"I’m not saying we should elope or anything, I just…"

Q stared at the agent in front of him, just barely keeping it together, mumbling like a teenage boy. He sighed. 

"You do know that our relationship would be against regulation, right? That we could both lose our jobs and our freedom if someone found out?"

"I’ll figure something out."

Bond shrugged. Q rolled his eyes at him and moved so they were facing each other.

"This is highly ill-advised."

Bond glanced up at him. His eyes were wide, and so, so blue.

"I didn’t hear you say no, Q."

Q shook his head and sucked in a breath.

"How could I possibly say no to you, 007?"

The agents' smile was enough to make any doubt disappear from the quartermaster's mind. It transformed him, from stoic killer to a human being, who just been granted what he wanted most in life. Q couldn’t help but smile himself, and grip his hand a little tighter.


	4. Did you ever worry?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter this time!

Another month passed. They kept up the banter at work, but the jabs they threw at each other had lost some of its usual sting. Bond always had a soft smile in the corner of his mouth now, and Q felt smug for being the one putting it there. 

Q was well aware he wasn’t much better, practically beaming with joy as he worked faster, talked faster, ate more than usual and couldn’t be still for more than two seconds. His co-workers weren’t stupid, and neither was Bond’s, but they had figured that as long as they didn’t know exactly who was the reason for their infatuated behavior, they were in the clear. 

Bond's shoulder was still healing, and though he had a lot of paperwork to fill out, he used the convalescence to its fullest, sleeping in Q’s apartment almost every night. Bond seemed content just to be close to Q, to touch his skin and make sure he still had a pulse. Which was enough for Q as well, or at least, that was what he tried to tell himself.

But they had work to do too. As soon as James was considered fit for duty again, there was a mission with his name on it. Q was scared out his mind. Bond would be away, and he might never come back. He almost considered changing the flight to the next day, so they would have more time to say goodbye. But he didn’t. He knew the mission was more important. That this is what they all worked for, and most of all, that anything out of the ordinary would draw attention. Bond might have it all figured out, but the work at MI6 was all Q had. He couldn’t jeopardize the mission just because he was worried.

They had some time alone in the lab, Tanner sent away to make sure the weather didn’t delay the flight and mess up the eta's. Q did his best to keep it together, they were still quite visible through the surveillance cameras. Q knew because he had put them there. 

"Here are the changed schedules, you need to transfer it without being seen."

James was as handsome as ever, in a new and shiny grey suit.

"Got it, Q."

The agent smiled, but not the usual grin. His eyes looked sad, though he kept up appearances as well. Q wasn’t as good at pretending, so he just nodded.

"And here’s your gun."

Q held it out and Bond took it, brushing his hand against his as he did so. Q blushed, and lowered his voice. 

"Please don’t get killed, 007."

James actually smiled this time. 

"Yes, Q."


	5. Were you ever intimate?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some regular old porn. Enjoy.

When the mission was over they met as soon as they could, in James’s apartment. The big dark red sofa was Q’s favorite piece of furniture in the whole world because it reminded him that he was in Bond’s personal space. Now, they just sat there, barely looking at each other. Q had ordered Chinese take-out, but they both were too worn out to move from their positions on opposite sides of the couch. Bond looked tired, like after every mission. 

Q was unable to speak because all he wanted to say was the James had been reckless again, and that he couldn’t sit around and wait for him if all he was going to do was get himself killed. He just couldn’t do it. He refused. 

He also knew James was aware, and that he was tired of hearing it, and that he also knew that the quartermaster didn’t really mean it. Q was scared of what would happen if they never got to see each other again. So instead of launching at him, he just quietly slid over to James and put his head on his shoulder. James leaned his head against the crown of Q’s head and took a deep breath. 

"Sorry, Q, I’m not much fun."

"Me neither."

He reached for the fried rice with vegetables he had ordered. 

"Still, we should eat something before we fall asleep."

Bond grunted. His eyes were half closed already. Q reached out and handed him his noodles. He tried to sound chirpy.

"Come on, 007."

He circled the paper box under Bond’s nose, which seemed to wake him just enough. The agent took the box, grabbed the chopsticks and practically inhaled all his noodles in one bite. 

Q stared at him. 

"Remember to never bring you to see my parents," he remarked. 

"How so?"

Q shook his head.

"Never mind."

Bond grinned and leaned forward so he could put the empty box back on the coffee table. 

"My table manners not good enough for you?"

"I don’t mind, really."

Q picked up a fried broccoli and put it in his mouth, as a way to show he was done talking. Bond smiled.

"I can’t imagine you ever being a child. Just good manners and polite conversation, through and through. Bet your parents are proud."

The younger man chuckled darkly, hiding his mouth behind his hand.

"Oh, on the contrary. I was an anxious, introverted boy who’d rather spent his time locked indoors solving math puzzles than socializing with my fathers’ friends. As I got older, I passed the time by hacking into banks and high-security facilities. I got everybody in all sorts of trouble. The icing on the cake came when their only son turned out to be gay. So, no, no one is proud."

Q sounded bitter. James moved closer, to comfort him. He had miscalculated how that would affect his stomach. He burped, loudly, and Q laughed, both out of surprise and from the embarrassed face James made. James started laughing too, and the tension dissipated and turned into something else. Q’s face turned sober and he finished his food quietly. Then he curled back against Bond, putting a hand on his chest so he could feel it rising and falling. The agent looked down at him.

"I just… I don’t want you to ever go away."

James didn’t say anything. They both knew there was no promises to be made, no statements about everlasting love or commitment. He put his head down against Q’s hair and nuzzled his nose close to his scalp. He smelled like shampoo and something intangible, inherently Q. The younger man sighed and moved closer. He shifted so his face was burrowed into the side of Bond’s neck, his lips slowly moving to place a kiss against his jaw. When Bond didn’t move away, he continued, languidly, moving his body fluently until he was sitting up, straddling his hips. Q looked into Bond’s eyes and carefully leaned forward. When their lips met, they both took their time, slowly tasting each other. Bond was intoxicating. Everytime Q leaned back, he wished he was back. His lips were soft and yielding, not like Q had thought at all. 

Q had followed Bond through missions that required a broad spectrum of... intimacy. He had had trouble admitting, even to himself, that he sometimes would have wanted to be at the receiving end of those kisses and other interactions. The agent always performed satisfactory, at least as far as Q could tell. At the same time, Q knew that in those moments, Bond was considered, and considered himself, an extension of the British government. He was good at what he did, but he didn’t have much of a choice. And Q didn’t want to make the agent do anything he didn’t want to do. 

So he took things deliberately slow, kissing his way all over Bond’s face, ears and down his jawline. James’ breath came out in little puffs against Q’s collarbone. The quartermaster began to mouth his way back when the agent turned his head and caught the area behind his ear where the carotid artery meets the skull. Q could feel himself turn to jelly as Bond sucked and licked there, careful not to leave a mark. He slumped against the agent’s body, feeling how tight the man’s trousers were. Heat coiled low in his belly and he could feel arousal spread through his body, quick like a forest fire. 

The younger man started unbuttoning Bond’s shirt and Bond did the same, only faster, spreading his calloused palms against Q’s naked skin. It tickled, and Q squirmed against James, kissing him harder now, short of breath. James licked a stripe from his collarbone to his ear and then kissed him deeply, taking his time, dragging his hands down Q’s body to his hips. The agent took his hands from him only to help Q shimmy out of his shirt and tank top, and then they were flush against each other again, skin against skin. James shifted, and then he was on his back against the red sofa, with Q on top. 

Q thought he could take things slow, that he could be in control, but it was nearly impossible now, with them together like this. He practically rutted against Bond now, against the hardness inside his straining pants. His hands were inside them before he could stop himself, and it was only when James moaned against his neck that he froze, his hand still pressed against Bond’s groin, a little sheepishly. 

"Am I... moving too fast?" he panted. 

He tried his best to prepare himself in case Bond wouldn’t want him to touch him yet. Or at all. Q didn’t know if Bond ever had a male lover. There was nothing in his file about it. 

"No", he heard Bond mouth against his neck, and he started moving again, unable to help himself. 

Bond arched up against his hand, moaning louder. Just hearing the sound made him understand just how much Bond was enjoying himself. Q wanted to hear him again, but he needed room to move and started unbuckling James’ trousers with his other hand. Q knew that Bond was big, but knowing is not the same as seeing. He stroked the length through the fabric of his boxers and wondered what it would be like to have it in his mouth. His own cock twitched at the thought. Bond’s hands came down to cup his buttcheeks and suddenly Q’s mind was flushed with thoughts of how they could combine their bodies. Bond moved his hand forward to his front and pressed his hand up against Q’s shaft, making his head swim. 

"Can I?" Bond whispered and Q nodded yes, to everything, anything.

 

Bond unbuckled Q’s belt, and pressed his hand up, pumping up and down Q’s shaft. He was sweating, Q realized, but his movements were slow, controlled, even though it seemed to be difficult for him to remain in charge of his actions. “He wants to move faster, but he is being considerate”, Q thought, and the thought made him move both his hips and his hands faster too, showing him he could take it. Bond took the hint and moved his hips too, eager for more, kissing Q harder, pressing his tongue into him, grabbing his ass and pushing them against each other. Breath intermingling, Bond helped Q out of his trousers so he could kick them off his feet and onto the floor. Q discovered a lot that evening, including that James had amazing stamina, but also the ability to tease and make him slow down, kissing him slowly for a minute and then fire him up again. It was infuriating. Q wanted more, of everything.

He started dragging out his strokes, resting his fingertips just behind James’ balls, circling his fingers further and further back, listening to James’ breathing. The agent just pressed up against him, like Q’s advancements were more than welcome. Q almost came from the realization alone. He reached up and caught Bond’s lips with his own, still stroking him. 

"Bedroom?" 

"Mmm."

Bond nodded and scooped the quartermaster up in his arms. Q protested, but it was half-hearted at best.

"I can walk, you know!"

Bond chuckled low in his chest. 

"I know."

The agent carried Q with his legs around his hips and kissed him the whole way, his eyes closed. On the bed, he flung the covers off and rolled them down to he was on top. Q could feel the head of his cock against his ass and ground down a little, just to gauge Bond’s reaction. The agent stiffened for a second before kissing him harder, more desperate, before changing their positions again, so Q was on top. Q didn’t understand, and then it dawned on him. He snogged James again, stroking him, making sure he was enjoying himself.

"Lube?" he asked breathlessly.

"Top drawer."

He tried not to show how surprised he was. He had topped before, of course. If that was what Bond wanted… He wanted to make James feel good, feel loved. The man kept defying everything he thought he knew about him, about who he was and what he liked.

He opened up Bond slowly, checking in with him the whole time, listening to his breath and trying not to go too fast. The way James relaxed and took his fingers made Q sure he had done it at least once before but was by no means used to it. And how could he be, when the MI6 was watching him all day long? When he, Q, watched him?

Q was blushing at the mere thought of him listening to something like this. He pressed the pads of his fingers upwards, focusing on what he was doing. The motion made Bond shiver, so he did it again, rubbing against where he knew he would get a response. The agent arched and moaned loudly this time, his ribs countable in the low light, and his face… Magnificent. Q could see his brow furrow, sweat glistening on his forehead. Bond was coming apart before him. He needed to hear it, see it, taste it. Q pressed inside Bond again and added a third finger. When Bond arched, he caught his cock in his mouth and hollowed his cheeks. The agent screamed like Q had never heard before. He was leaking himself now, he could feel himself pulsing, needing more. He grabbed more lube and covered himself and his fingers. He wanted to be ready. Bond throbbed inside his mouth, around his fingers, but he was still so tight. Bond’s breath came out in little puffs, trying to speak. 

"I need it, now, need it now, Q, need…"

Q tried to argue but it came out weak with want.

"You are still so tight, I can’t..."

Bond growled impatiently, and then he grabbed Q and turned him over, pressing down against the head of his cock. Q tried to resist, but he couldn’t, not with James Bond on top of him, dripping with lube. His tip slipped inside, and Bond rocked down, taking more and more with each roll of his hips. He was breathing hard but adjusting himself. When he had taken all of him, he started moving in earnest, and Q’s brain felt like it was about to explode, firing all neurons at once. He couldn’t do more than moan, writhing under Bond’s muscular thighs, his rolling hips. He pressed upwards in what he hoped was a steady rhythm but he just needed to go faster, faster, more, more, like a mantra he wasn’t in charge of. Bond’s eyes were closed, his eyebrows knit together, and when Q came, the agent fell forward, his walls pulsing around Q and then stilling before a flood of cum covered Q’s stomach and ribs. His arms folded and his head landed on Q‘s chest, over his heart, and Q slipped out, letting out another splash of cum out on his right thigh.

Q breathed hard for several minutes. All the exhaustion from before came flooding back. Still, he got Bond to roll over, got up, found the bathroom and returned with some towels to clean themselves up with. Bond laid on his side and winced when the wet fabric touched him. Q whispered instructions, to let Bond know it was safe. 

"Shh, it’s all right."

The breath turned into a hum of contentment as his cock twitched to life again before Q’s eyes. The quartermaster did his best to not let his imagination get the best of him. Tomorrow maybe, he thought with dry amusement. 

"Go to sleep, 007."

Q tucked the agent in and stumbled back to the bathroom to take a quick shower. When he laid back at the pillows next to Bond the agent was still awake, but just barely. He slung an arm around Q and pulled him close. 

"Thank you."

"You are very welcome."

Bond smiled in his sleep. Q settled in close to him and fell asleep to the steady rhythm of his heart.


	6. When did others first begin to suspect?

They were sitting outside Mallory's’ office like two school children. Or, to be fair, Q was sitting, fidgeting and biting his nails, while Bond leaned against the glass next to the door frame, looking impatient. There were cameras all around, so they couldn’t exactly speak freely.

“He called us both here?” 

Q tried to make his voice as undetectable as he could. Bond gave him a sharp look.

“He probably just wants to congratulate us on a job well done. Last mission went okay. That sort of thing.”

Q nodded but didn’t feel any calmer. Bond sighed and sat down next to him on the bench. There hadn’t been any benches when M had been in charge. Bond tried not to think too much about her.

“Take it easy, Q. Remember your training.”

Q laughed nervously.

“I didn’t have any bloody training. I knew everything I needed already. No one prepared me for this particular scenario, 007.”

Bond sat back and folded his hands behind his head like they were just having a normal conversation. He leaned in like he was telling a secret, smiling suavely in a way that calmed Q a little, but not much.

“When I was in training, I learned lots of things.”

Q hoped there was a reason for what he said.

“Oh? Like what?”

“Like, if you are injected with a truth serum, try to count tiles in the room, or the square root of a thousand, or something like that. And if you are put on a lie detector, clench your anus. You know, things like that.”

The quartermaster shot Bond an incredulous look. Bond grinned widely at him. ‘He’s scared out of his mind,’ Q realized. It put things in perspective. If Bond could hide it, so can I. The advice were valuable too. He had no idea what kind of torture Mallory might put them through to get to the truth. Better be prepared.

The door opened and a junior agent stepped out, nodding politely as she saw them. She called into the office.

“I believe there are two gentlemen out here waiting to see you, Mr. Mallory.”

“Ah, yes!”

Mallory popped out his head.

“Excellent! Please, come, come.”

They both shook Mallory’s hand and stepped inside. Q was a little calmer after sitting down inside the office. M offered them whiskey which Q declined and Bond accepted. The senior agent smiled graciously as he offered Q some tea instead.

“Very good, gentlemen, well done.”

Q and Bond shot each other a confused look as Mallory poured them their drinks. He carefully placed them in front of them before getting a glass of whiskey for himself and sitting down at the opposite side of his desk.

“Gentlemen, listen.”

Mallory managed to sound both stern and apologetic at the same time. 

“If it were up to me, you wouldn’t be here this fine afternoon. What my agents and employees do in private is up to them, you know? I believe all of us can manage our love lives without, er, losing focus, so to speak.”

Q and Bond looked straight ahead, listening perhaps more intently than strictly necessary.

“Yes sir,” Q said.

“Couldn’t agree more,” Bond said.

Mallory nodded and looked down for a moment, a peculiar smile on his lips. Q grabbed the back of his thighs to keep his hands from shaking. 

“Yes…,” Mallory dragged.

He looked up at them both.

“However, I’ve received several... let’s call them reports… about you two and the way you have been behaving these last few months. Several of the people who have reported have had no specific problem with you, but they were told to tell me if they noticed anything odd, or out of the ordinary.”

He opened his desk drawer and pulled out a file.

“Bond, you live in Highgate, if I’m not mistaken?” 

Bond smiled, looking sure of himself as always.

“Right.”

“And Q, you live in Battersea, from what I can find? Beecham road?”

Q nodded. Mallory opened the file and pulled out several photos. One was of him, stepping out of a taxi and through the entrance to Bond’s building. 

“Q. You have been spending a lot of time in Highgate. In the same building where Bond has an apartment.”

Q swallowed. 

“Yes, sir.”

“Care to tell me why?”

Q cleared his throat.

“I have a friend who happens to live there, sir.”

It wasn’t strictly a lie. Mallory held his breath for a second. Q kept quiet.

“I see.”

He turned to Bond. 

“We have also found some evidence of someone matching your size and build entering what appears to be the kitchen window of Q’s apartment.” 

He showed them the photo. Bond’s demeanor was calm as he studied the picture.

“With all due respect, M, that could be anyone.”

“Oh?”

Mallory put the photo down, cool as a cucumber. He turned to speak with Q again.

“Let’s see if I’ve got this right. An unknown man, matching 007’s description, apparently breaks into your flat several times a week. Instead of reporting this or asking for help from the MI6, you let this happen, and as it does, I get reports that you seem happier, more at ease and more satisfied. Meanwhile, you, 007…”

He turned to Bond.

“… exhibit similar changes to your mood, during the same time that I hear Q starts visiting a previously unknown friend who just happens to live in the exact same building as you.”

Q couldn’t breathe. Mallory had found them out. He had known the day would come but it shocked him, nonetheless. What would happen next? Would Mallory let them off with a stern warning and strict instructions to end the relationship? Could he really do that? Mallory continued to speak.

“Gentlemen, I’m not stupid. Right now, I’m also the only one with access to these photos.”

Q looked up at M. This was not where he thought this conversation was going. 

“I’ve been observing you. Looking for cracks, for mistakes, slip-ups. As of yet, you have not made a single one. If anything, you seem to be even more intent on making sure the missions are done efficiently. And don’t think I haven’t noticed your trend with the ladies, 007.”

Bond blushed. Q would have to ask him about that later. 

Mallory looked between them. 

“I have asked Mr. Tanner for an assessor to decide whether or not your relationship has affected you. If you talk to her, and she assesses you to be a good pair, I will allow it. If any of you refuse to speak with her, I can decide to split you up. Now I know such a decision won’t bother you much, Mr. Bond, but Q might have more of an issue if he doesn’t comply with direct orders. I need you both to remember what insubordination could mean, for both of you, but especially for you, Q.” 

Q felt himself turn white. He immediately was nauseous. 

“Yes sir,” he whispered. 

He could feel Bond’s hand on his shoulder and shot him a glance. He looked worried and angry. Mallory gave them both an apologetic smile and then turned towards the door.

“Ah, Tanner, back so soon? Maybe you can show Q the way to the assessment rooms?”

Q followed Tanner, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. He knew the way, of course, but it was easier following Tanner. 

“Are you quite alright sir?” Tanner asked.

Q didn’t feel like talking.

“Yes, thank you, Tanner.”

Then they were there and Q sat down in front of a middle-aged woman in a brown business suit and blue shirt. She looked nice. Sympathetic. 

“I’m Dr. Jenny Shaw.”

“Q.”

“Alright, Q. Would you like some water before we begin?”

“No, thank you.”

“You look a little pale.”

“I’m fine.”

Dr. Shaw nodded briskly.

“Alright then. I’m here to assess your relationship with agent 007. How long have you two been in a relationship?”

Q thought about it.

“About a year, I think.”

Dr. Shaw made a note on the paper.

“Why did you first start seeing each other?”

Q snorted.

“Have you met 007?”

“I haven’t had the pleasure yet.”

“But you are aware of what he does?”

“I know he is an active field agent if that is what you mean.”

 

“Yeah. And, to begin with, I wasn’t sure what to make of him. He was reckless, did all kinds of stupid things, he seemed to take every chance he could to break what I gave him. And he’d break into my apartment sometimes because he didn’t want to go to the hospital. I broke into his as well, when I needed. I guess we were friends, at first. He didn’t show that he liked me but others told me he really liked the gun I made him.” 

Dr. Shaw nodded. 

“And then?”

Q looked up at her. 

“Things changed.”

She kept asking and Q kept answering. He could feel himself relaxing, even smiling a little candidly when he remembered something particularly intimate or sweet that James had done. She didn’t go into more details than she had to, which Q appreciated. When he answered “Yes” to the question “Are you intimate?”, she didn’t ask any further. When they were done, she called for Tanner and asked him to bring Q back to his office and send for Bond.

Q sat back at his desk and took a couple of deep breaths. He didn’t think he would be able to work at first, but work had always been a good way for him to clear his mind and he was deep into programming a new security feature when Tanner knocked and brought him back to the basement. Dr. Shaw was still there, and so was James. His eyes were glossy like he had been holding back tears, but he still smiled warmly when he saw Q. The quartermaster couldn’t help but smile back, as he took a seat next to him.

“I wanted to ask you both of you some questions while you are in the same room,” the doctor explained.

 

Q nodded.

“Alright.”

“As I understand it, Q, James doesn’t know your real name.”

Q looked over at James, who shrugged.

“It came up,” the agent explained.

Q looked over at dr Shaw.

“He never asked for it. I can tell him right now if it helps your assessment.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

Dr. Shaw looked back at her papers. Q felt his heart start to pound in his chest again. 

“I also understand that you have quite a criminal record.”

Q swallowed. 

“James knows about that part.”

“Yes, but you didn’t seem to factor in what would happen to you if someone would have found out about your relationship and used it as a way of showing how unfit you were for the assignment as quartermaster.”

Q’s breath came out in little gasps. When he spoke, his voice came out in little gasps.

“I factored it in. And I did it anyway.”

He would lose his job. He would lose his assignment as Q. As much as he had known this could happen he wasn’t equipped to deal with the reality of it. He would have done it again, of course, but it didn’t stop his mind from spinning into all possible scenarios that could go wrong, all of which meant he couldn’t see James again, locked up in prison or vulnerable due to the protection MI6 provided. They would come for him, and he would be six feet under by the next morning. Too late he realized he couldn’t breathe, that his feet and hands felt numb, that his face was tingling… and then James was holding him, stroking his head, whispering soothingly in his ear. Q tried to breathe and burrowed his face into James’ neck. The world around them turned into a blur as he focused on his breath, widely irregular. When he was able to focus on anything else, Q heard James and Dr. Shaw talk. 

“He seems more in control. Does this happen often?”

“No, I have only seen him like this one other time.”

There were a pause and Bond added: 

“When he was very stressed.”

“Alright. I’ve cleared it with Mr. Mallory and you are allowed to take him back home. Your final assessment will be done within the week. Carry on.”

Bond nodded and Shaw left. He carefully untangled himself from Q so he could put him in a chair, and watched him as his breathing got under control.

“How are you feeling? Can you walk?”

“Where are we going?” Q wheezed.

“You are going home.”

Q slowly regained his composure.

“What time is it?”

“Noon.”

“I have work to do.”

“M will understand.”

Q shook his head, and then he yawned.

“You think he will report us?” he murmured.

“Bond looked up at the blinking security camera in the corner of the room. 

“I don’t know, but it’s out of our hands now.”

Q let Bond take him home. They took the front door this time, Bond fishing up the keys from Q’s trousers and unlock ut like he had done it a million times before. The agent hoisted the quartermaster up into his arms and carried him, bridal style, into the bedroom. When Q was on the bed, James carefully removed his shoes, cardigan, trousers, and socks, making sure he was comfortable. Q was half asleep when he heard him move away slowly.

“Bond?” Q breathed.

“Yes Q?”

The quartermaster tried sounding as authoritative as possible, probably failing miserably.

“Stay.”

A moment later, a shift in the mattress told him Bond had come to lay beside him. Q snuggled close and shut his eyes.


End file.
